


Home Away From Home

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Series. Sam's first night in California away from his family might not be as bad as he originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Away From Home

Sam Winchester glanced around the barren room and thought uncertainly to himself: Is this really where I am supposed to stay for the next eight months?

Yes, it seemed as though the young man was starting to reconsider his decision to leave the dangerous and thankless life as a hunter for the mundane life of a college student.

Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, it was fine; if only for eight months. He'd survive. It wasn't really that bad anyway. He'd stayed in motels that looked worse than this.

The room Sam had agreed to rent- because it was cheap and he really couldn't afford to be picky- was in a basement. There were three other rooms the landlord was renting in the lower part of the bungalow- six upstairs in the main floor- but so far Sam hadn't seen any of his fellow 'roommates'. The house was nondescript, redbrick with flower gardens full of weeds and a cracked cement porch in the front. An ancient lawn chair stood as a silent sentinel on the porch, caged-in by a flaking wrought iron railing painted white.

The entrance to the basement, where Sam's room would be, was located at the side of the bungalow, down a neglected sidewalk path. At first, Sam's key didn't fit into the lock and for a split second of panic; the eighteen-year old thought he'd arrived at the wrong house. After a long minute of wiggling the key and turning the knob, the door opened to reveal a narrow staircase, carpeted dark blue that led down to the basement.

Not so eager to explore his new habitat, Sam descended the steps slowly, squinting in the dimly lit stairwell and pawing the wall to his right until he found the light switch and the narrow hallway was illuminated.

A spacious kitchen sat at the bottom of the stairs, directly to the left. Sam saw that the floors were scuffed white linoleum tiles, the ceiling covered in the same type of fiberglass tiles commonly found in schools and hospitals. A green card table with four matching chairs had been set up in the unoccupied floor of the kitchen, presumably by one of Sam's three roommates. The kitchen was complete with old, sticky wood cabinetry, an old white oven and fridge and a chest freezer. On the chipped, laminate counters sat a dollar store dish tray, a kettle and a toaster.

Sam stared at the appliances for a long moment, feeling completely unprepared with his single duffel bag containing nothing except for his clothes and the few worldly possessions he owned.

Turning, the young man trudged down the hallway- pausing to turn on the light to try and cut through the suffocating darkness created by a lack of windows- and found he faced two identical wooden doors. They both looked exactly the same but Sam knew the one on the left was his.

Fumbling with his keys, the eighteen-year old stepped up to the door and inserted the proper key into lock. The room was small and stuffy. Its walls were painted a light, neutral grey, the floor covered in laminate designed to look like hardwood that was peeling away from the ground in some places. Looking up, Sam saw that his ceiling was formed of the same fiberglass tiles as the kitchen was; these ones stained and chewed away by mice in the corners. A tiny window afforded a diffuse light into the room that really did nothing to brighten the gloom.

Someone, possibly the previous tenant had left a mattress on one side of the room; that was the only piece of furniture.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and pulled the door shut. Taking a deep breath he turned and headed back up the hallway towards the bathroom, which was directly beside the furnace. The bathroom was cramped; the toilet sat directly beside the door and the shower only allowed for standing room only. There was no medicine cabinet, only the cupboard underneath the sink and the mirror above it, which was cracked and dark with age.

"What the hell am I getting myself into?" Sam asked out loud, running a hand through his hair.

He could only imagine what his father would say if he could see Sam's living accommodations. Sam cringed; his father would probably ask him what was so fucking special about being a hotshot college student if he had to stay in a dump like that? Didn't his fancy scholarship pay for a lodgings as well?

Sam shook his head, trying not to dwell on John's disapproval. He wasn't the first kid who'd had to stay in a room like this just so he could get a higher education and he knew he wouldn't be the last.

Besides, he didn't plan on staying anyway. He'd find a way to make money, first to pay rent and then to save enough to get an apartment, somewhere closer to the college (and nicer).

Deciding that he should go back to his room and make the most of it, Sam turned around and began heading back down the hallway- feeling homesick for his family and doubtful that his choice had been a good one- when the door at the top of the stairs opened and a young female voice called out:

"Hello? Is anyone here? Can you help me with my bags?"

Sam looked up and saw a girl with long, curly blonde hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of jean capris, a red tank top and brown flip-flops.

"Hey!" the young man called out, "I can give you a hand, if you'd like."

The girl smiled- she couldn't be much younger than Sam- and thanked him, "Would you? Thanks so much! I'm Jess, by the way."

"Sam," the eighteen-year old replied and climbed the stairs.

"Are you going to Stanford too?" Jess asked as she led Sam out to her car, an old blue Volkswagen Beetle.

"Yeah," he answered then hesitated, not knowing exactly what to tell the girl.

"Me too!" Jess gushed as she opened the trunk of the car and handed Sam a piece of luggage, "I'm in pre-Med. I'm going to be a doctor."

"Cool!" Sam exclaimed, glad that Jess was doing most of the talking, "I'm pre-Law actually."

Jess commented on Sam's program admiringly, "I hear it's really hard to get into pre-Law here."

Sam nodded and blushed slightly, thinking of his scholarship.

"So where are you from, Sam?" Jess asked as he followed her down the narrow staircase.

Sam shrugged, "Everywhere. My family moved around a lot while I was growing up."

"Hm," Jess muttered, "That's neat. I'm a local."

Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Then why are you moving in here? Couldn't you stay with your parents or something?"

The blonde laughed out loud, "You don't know my parents! No, my Dad told me that if I was smart enough to skip a grade and graduate high school early then I should be able to make my way on my own."

The young man's eyes widened, "You skipped a grade?"

Jess nodded, glancing down demurely, "Yeah… I don't really like to brag about it… it just kind of slipped out. People kind of get scared away, think I'm some sort of genius or something when I say that."

Sam smiled, "So how old are you anyway?"

The girl looked up, "Seventeen."

"That's amazing," he told her.

Jess blinked, "Really? You think so?"

Sam nodded earnestly, "I've never known anyone who's skipped grades. You must be pretty smart."

Jess blushed and quickly turned away, unlocking the door to her room.

"What about you?" she asked as she sat her bags down and Sam followed suit, "I mean, you have to be pretty intelligent to get into Stanford's pre- Law program."

Now it was the young man's turn to be embarrassed. Sam shrugged, "My brother thinks I'm a genius but I've never skipped any grades. I just liked going to school and learning."

Jess nodded.

"How about we go out for lunch after we're done getting all my stuff down here?" she asked, "Just as a thank-you for helping me out."

Sam paused, not quite knowing how to respond.

The blonde smiled, "My treat. Next time you can pay, okay?"

Sam smiled back, relaxing and realized that perhaps his eight months in this house wouldn't be as lonely as he'd first thought.


End file.
